L.

I.

You shall kneel, and your heart you
shall offer free,
But she'll laugh at the gift, and the offer forbid,
And say
it was kindly meant, but would be
Not worth her acceptance, " without a head !"
The coming year

Hath power to change the pulses of thy heart.
To one dull throb of ceaseless agony;

To hush the sigh on thy resigned lip,

And lock it in the heart-freeze the hot tear
And bid it on the eyelid hang forever

18.

Maturin.

G. The color of our whole life is generally such as the three or four first years in which we are our own masters make it. Then it is that we may be said to shape our own destiny, and to treasure up for ourselves a series of future successes or disappointments.

L.-Thy happy soul shall all the way
To heaven have a summer's day.

Life is before ye! Oh, if you could look
Into the secrets of that sealed book,

Cowper.

R. Crashaw.

Strong as ye are with youth, and hope, and faith,
Ye would sink down and falter "Give me death !"
If the dread Sphinx's lips might once unclose,
And utter but a whisper of the woes,

Which must overtake ye in your life-long doom,
Well might ye cry, "My cradle be my tomb!"

I.

Could ye foresee your spirit's broken wings,
Fame's brightest triumphs, what despised things,
Friendship how feeble, Love how fierce a flame,
Your joy half sorrow, half your glory shame,
Oh, could ye see it all, ye might, ye might
Cower in despair, unequal to the strife,

And die but in beholding what is life!

19.

Fanny Kemble Butler.

Let not the wild tempest your spirit affright,
Shrink not from the storm, though it come in its might;
Be watchful, be ready, for shipwreck prepare,

Keep an eye on the life-boat, but never despair.

20.

It cannot-lasting bliss below

Is all romance and dream,
Only the joys celestial flow
In an eternal stream;

The pleasures that the smiling day
With large right hand bestows,
Falsely her left conveys away,

And shuffles in our woes;
So have I seen a mother play,
And cheat her silly child,
She gave, and took a toy away
The infant cried, and smiled

I.

21.

G.-Oh, know you not soft music's power
Upon the soul at midnight hour?
A well-conducted serenade

Will introduce you to the maid.

L.-You scarcely need an introduction there,

C. M. M.

To him so well your modest worth is known, You almost seem an ancient friend-and share His kindest thoughts, to others often shown.

22.

G.-'Tis not for gifts you may on her bestow, 'Tis not for smiles your ductile cheeks may show, "Tis not for hopes your flattering lips avow, To mind and talents only will she bow.

L.-Ah! cruel fate! and should you not complain,
When all your arts have been essayed in vain;
There's naught that ever female wit supplied
That has not first or last by you been tried;
You've taxed each faculty to please the beaux,
But cannot make a single soul propose;

Assuming modesty, and artless wiles,

You've wooed with blushes and endearing smiles;

Tried music's varied captivating tone,

That should have moved or melted hearts of stone •

But finding all in vain, you'd better try

What female tact and impudence supply.

I.

23.

G.-Whispering tongues can poison truth,
And constancy lives in realms above.

Coleridge.

L.-He is a bashful man-and feels the pain
Of fancied scorn and undeserved disdain;
His sensibilities are so acute,

The fear of being silent makes him mute.

L.-Long seems the time that's vanished,
Since whispers darkly wrought

The work that sundered you and him
With words that poison thought;
And easy 'tis with smiles to hide
The stricken spirit's yearning,

And wear a look of icy pride,

While the heart within is burning!

Oh, 'tis a bitter, bitter thing,

Beneath God's holy sky

To fill that sentient thing, the heart,
With strife and enmity!

Yea, woe to those who plant the seed

That yieldeth naught but dole,

To those who thus do murder

God's image in the soul!

Yet silently and softly,

The dews of mercy fall,

Cowper.

I.

And the old love-the old love,
It triumphs over all!
Oh, many are its cruel foes,

A host well armed and strong;
And that fair garnished chamber
Hath been their dwelling long;

But the old love-the old love,
It hath a master spell,

And in its home-the human heart-
It worketh strong and well
The serpent pride is crested,
And hate hath lips of gall;
But the old love-the old love,
Is stronger than them all!

Mrs. E. F Ellet.

24.

G.-Most fond of reflection-but 'tis of a kind
That's found in the mirror, and not in the mind!
C. M. M.

L.-Whatever nature has in worth denied

She's given in large recruits of needful pride!
That, where wit fails, steps in to his defence
And fills up all the mighty void of sense!

25.

Pope.

G. Oh, when she will, she will-you may depend on't;

And when she won't, she won't—and that's the end on't!